


captivation

by secondbutton



Series: Aelia Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondbutton/pseuds/secondbutton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a curiosity, a distraction, and even though he cannot afford to be curious or distracted, not now, when so much depends on him, he finds himself watching her more often than he wants to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	captivation

There is something captivating in the way she moves.  
  
She walks with a confident stride. Her nose is always slightly tilted up and before he would've thought nothing of it. Elves are generally shorter than humans after all, and she is surrounded by them more often than not these days. But paired with the look of constant self-assuredness in her eyes and the proud strength of her posture, somehow she makes it seem like she is the one looking down at them.

She is a curiosity, a distraction, and even though he cannot afford to be curious or distracted, not now, when so much depends on him, he finds himself watching her more often than he wants to admit.  
  
\----  
  
One day, when he walks past the gates of Haven, he is met not with the organized rank and file of his recruits, but with a crowd seemingly gathered around a spectacle. Annoyed, he pushes determinedly through the bodies, and as a reprimand readies to launch itself out of his lungs, he suddenly finds himself unable to speak.  
  
She is in the middle of the haphazard circle that the recruits have made, twin blades and challenging grin flashing as Cassandra charges toward her. They are sparring, he realizes, and he is just as caught up in the event as those around him. Before, the two women likely would've fought with a slight edge of malice. Their first meeting had not been cordial, he heard. But she has been part of the Inquisition for several weeks now, and each time she comes back from a new area explored, Cassandra is on her right.  
  
She easily dodges Cassandra. Cassandra is powerful and heavy-handed, slower and precise in her movements. But the Herald is agile and nimble, disappearing one second only to reappear and flank her enemy in the next. Her lithe figure lends itself to this dance, and though it is apparent that Cassandra grows tired of her sword slicing through nothing but air, she allows her the chance to show off.  
  
Cassandra's sword bears down toward her, but she stops its descent with the cross of her blades before leaping backwards. She flips and lands on a hand before righting herself on her feet once more. Cassandra rolls her eyes playfully in response, _Show off_.  
  
She shrugs, a wide grin on her face, _What can I say?_  
  
Cassandra sheathes her sword and the gathered crowd claps. It seems like she's starting to win favor among the ranks. Clever.  
  
"Lavellan." The word is too curt, too formal given how much he's watched by now, but her first name sounds too informal and he doesn't want to assume that their few interactions equate to a friendship. 'Herald' and 'Your Worship' are constantly used to refer to her but he has seen the way her shoulders stiffen at the title. It feels odd on his tongue, not only because she is Dalish and it is bordering sacrilege but also because she herself has repeatedly denounced the titles among the advisors in the relative privacy of the war room.  
  
He steps into the circle before he's fully cognizant of what exactly he's doing and she turns toward him, eyebrow raised. He makes a slight gesture to the ground between them, the battlefield on which she and Cassandra had waged their playful war only moments ago. One side of her mouth turns upward in a familiar smirk and she reaches behind her for her blades, readying her stance. The crowd gasps and murmurs as he fastens his shield on his arm and grips the hilt of his sword.  
  
He knows that she will not strike first; in a direct situation like this, her fighting style is based on reactions. He charges at her and tries to predict her next move. But instead of jumping backwards or to the side she ducks beneath the swing of his blade and sweeps her leg under his feet, effectively knocking him off balance. Before he fully realizes what transpired she has him pinned between her thighs with the cross of her blades mere breaths away from his throat. She directs another smirk at him before extricating herself from his body.  
  
"You're not the only one who's been watching, Rutherford."  
  
There is a teasing lilt in her voice that reminds him of a conversation they had the last time she stayed in Haven for more than a day. He cannot say whether being knocked on his back is more or less embarrassing than when she had him admit that he has made no vows to be chaste.  
  
She extends a hand to him to help him up, and he picks up his sword as she readies her stance once more. Their spar continues, and he notes that she seems to be taking it more seriously than she had with Cassandra. It makes sense, he supposes. Josephine has confided in him and Leliana about her concerns over how the rest of the Inquisition would treat her and the whispers that were undoubtedly spreading about their rogue faction and the elf in the middle of it all. She has something to prove, he knows, but he won't make this spar easy for her.  
  
Eventually their bodies flag. Their movements are slower now, both of their chests rising and falling heavily in order to supply their need for air. He has lost count of how many times they have pinned each other and does not know who is ahead.  
  
A few minutes later he has her trapped between the icy ground and his shield. She is panting and she lets her body go limp in acceptance of his victory. He looks down at her and her brow is sweaty from exertion despite the cold, and her hair, loose from its braid, is a wild white frame around her face.  
  
"Well done, Commander."  
  
\----  
  
Haven is joyous after she successfully closes the Breach. He watches and listens her as she recounts the day's events, Varric interrupting her now and then to supplant details. Proud as she is, her words bear no exaggeration, and she even rolls her eyes playfully when Varric inserts more of her heroism into the story.  
  
When she is done, someone calls for another round of drinks, and Varric launches into one of his neverending tales about his time in Kirkwall with the Champion. Her eyes wander and catch his and she sends him a small smile and a two-fingered salute.  
  
She was amused, she had told him, at how his soldiers were always so quick to stand at attention and salute him whenever he walked past.  
  
"It is a sign of respect and deference to my leadership," he had responded.  
  
"Oh? Should I start saluting you too, then?"  
  
"If you wish."  
  
Her eyes hold his for a few seconds longer and he sends a nod back at her direction. Dorian catches her attention and she turns away, but he continues to watch. Her face is bathed in the light of the campfire, the tempestuous flickers highlighting different angles of her face and leaving others in shadow. Something Varric says causes her to laugh, and he observes, mesmerized. He has not ever seen her this carefree. She looks younger, friendlier now that she is not using her pride and strength as armor.  
  
"You could go talk to her, you know."  
  
Leliana's lilting voice reaches him, and he turns his head to the side to acknowledge her appearance.  


"Talk to whom?"  
  
Leliana tilts her head in the direction of the campfire. "Lavellan. Or are you watching her so intently because you're afraid she may yet betray the Inquisition somehow?"  
  
Cullen shakes his head. Normally he is grateful for Leliana's observant nature, but not when he is the one she is deducing.  
  
"She has proven her loyalty to the cause. I have no reason to be suspicious."  
  
"Ah." She replies in acknowledgement. They stand together, eyes on the same person. It seemed like Varric was getting to the climax of his story and she had a broad smile on her face, encouraging him to continue. "She is rather beautiful, isn't she?"  
  
Despite the chill of the night, he feels his face redden under a blush. She is, but he does not want to admit to Leliana that he thinks so. Lately he has begun to see her as less of a mystery to be solved and more as an equal to be respected, though he has been steadfast in stifling any attraction from blossoming. The Inquisition does not need a besotted commander leading its soldiers, he reasons, and besides, despite the friendships she has forged with her companions, he has no reason to believe that she would ever be interested in a human.  
  
"You can take a bit of a break now, Cullen. The Breach is closed. We all deserve a little bit of a respite, don't you think?"  
  
"I'll take a break when you take a break, Leliana." The spymaster chuckles lightly at that but before she can respond, he senses a change in the mood of the camp.  
  
Before long there are shouts about enemies at the gate, followed by the clanging of sword and shield.  
  
He reaches for his own sword, striding forward to find someone, anyone that could tell him what was going on. A well of frustration bubbles inside him; he was the one that made the call to ease off on the patrols tonight, he was the one that let Haven's guard down.  
  
This is exactly why he cannot afford to be curious or distracted.  
  
\----  
  
The dragon is an unwelcome development in the battle, to say the least. He busies himself with rallying all he can find to the Chantry in the hopes of rescuing as many as possible. He has little hope that they will win this battle now.  
  
He has faced certain death before, but he has discovered that it does not get any easier the third time around. She makes it into the Chantry and despite the situation he is relieved.  
  
With belabored breaths, the chancellor reveals that there is a path out of Haven, and he watches as her face grows harder, more determined. He knows the moment she realizes that she must make the sacrifice, and her countenance grows even harder. Still, he does not fail to notice the slight tremble in her voice as she speaks or the way her hands fidget.  
  
Cassandra is the first to volunteer to accompany her to the trebuchet, but she is met with a stern shake of the head.  
  
"No. The Inquisition will need you more than I after this is done. You must stay." Cassandra's mouth moves to form a response but the words stick in her throat at the defiant look she receives. She steps back as others step forward to take her place.  
  
\----  
  
The wind is howling and snow batters against his face but he is determined in his search. Cassandra is next to him, arm up to shield against the barrage of the weather, feet trudging heavily through the terrain. They have been circling their makeshift camp for hours, searching for any sign of her. He is weary and the cold has seeped through to his bones, but she did not give up on them and he will not give up on her.  
  
Eventually it is her hand that first signals her presence, the eerie green glow faint against the wind and the snow. He runs once he is sure it is her, and he manages to reach her in time for her to sag into his arms. She is shivering, her light armor a weak shield against the weather in the mountains. He searches what he can see of her for any sign of injury. There is a gash across her cheek and blood all over her and he fervently hopes that only some of it is her own.  
  
He hefts one of her arms around his shoulders as Cassandra supports her other side. He has to stoop to support her properly, his ear level with her cheek. Through the howling of the wind and the persistent chatter of her teeth, he hears her lips whisper names, the sounds repeating over and over again. Eventually he realizes that she must be praying, must have been chanting those words for hours and hours.  
  
When they reach the camp, they immediately set her to rest on the nearest cot. Laying there, shivering and barely conscious, she looks so small. He notices that her mouth is still moving, lips still forming the words he heard earlier. He can hardly make out what she’s saying. The words and names are too foreign for his ears.  
  
\----  
  
"There is no doubt in my mind as to who the Inquisitor should be." Josephine's voice has lost the light and easy air it usually bears, and she speaks with an unwavering conviction.  
  
"I do not doubt that she would make a fine leader, Josephine, but what of our previous options? What about the Hero of Ferelden? Or Hawke?"  
  
"I have not heard from the Hero for too long. She does not want to be contacted." Leliana looks weary, the words obviously weighing heavily on her heart. "Even Alistair can not or will not divulge her location."  
  
"You have chased any trace of them for years, Cassandra." he interjects. "But now we have a strong and capable candidate here, within these walls. We cannot ignore what the Maker is so plainly trying to tell us."  
  
"But what if the Maker didn't send her after all? What if we're supposed to find another to lead the Inquisition?" Cassandra's brow furrows, her gaze trained hard on the map of Thedas. "You have heard her yourself, Cullen. She does not even believe. I will not put her in the midst of a holy war that she isn't equipped to fight!"  
  
"What choice do we have, Cassandra?" He is aggravated now, weary of revisiting the same argument time and time again. "We are out of time! We need a leader and despite all she has come across, despite her own faith, she has already been fighting for us." He remembers the foreign words she muttered after their escape at Haven, the sounds he tried to emulate and remember and write down so that he could learn more about the elven pantheon of gods, about her. “We would not even be here having this discussion if not for her.  
  
He watches as the fight leaves Cassandra's body. She is still staring intently at the map of Thedas, eyes burning a hole in the parchment.  
  
"You are all right. All those years spent searching..." she sighs. "I just did not want them to go to waste."  
  
"We could not have known that all it would take to find a leader for the Inquisition was a darkspawn magister and his dragon." Leliana smiles slightly, her small jest easing the tension in the room.  
  
Cassandra's eyes finally lift off the table. "We will tell the Herald of our decision to make her the Inquisitor. Perhaps she will favor this title more."  
  
\----  
  
She approaches him after most of the commotion has died down. He is concluding a meeting with the troops and his heart starts to race when he sees her. He feels a little foolish, like a boy with an irrational infatuation. But he is a man grown now, surely he is past the years of rapidly beating hearts and blushing.  
  
But once his attention is trained on her, he cannot help but notice her every move. She tries to blend in with the soldiers but they too are in awe of her presence.  
  
She steps toward him as the soldiers disperse, and there is a glint in her eyes that he cannot identify.  
  
"I have heard of some... interesting things, Commander." Her tone is teasing and she smiles up at him, her silver eyes dancing.  
  
He cannot help the eyebrow that raises as she circles around him.  
  
"Would you care to share then, Inquisitor?" If he mirrors the teasing lilt of her voice, he tells himself, it is purely accidental.  
  
"I heard that you think I'm strong. And capable." She stops circling and holds his gaze.  
  
“It’s true. The things you have accomplished have been nothing less than impressive thus far.”  
  
“That means a lot coming from you.” The smile she shines his way is warm.  
  
"I wanted to thank you, actually. For vouching for me. And for finding me. After Haven." Gone is the pride she usually displays so visibly. Instead, there is a soft vulnerability that he would have never expected to see coming from her. She breaks their eye contact, her gaze turning distant..  
  
"Honestly, I had prepared myself for death in that mountain." She opens her left hand and holds it out in front of her body. He cannot help but stare, the green glow is mesmerizing and he has never really seen the mark this close.  
  
"Maybe a holy hand really is guiding me." The green of her hand makes her face glow, and for a second she looks otherworldly.  
  
"But be it my gods', or yours, I will not fail." She reaches out and grasps one of his hands with both of hers. The mark, surprisingly, is not any warmer than the rest of her body, though its energy crackles against him, still so attuned to magic after all this time.  
  
"I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word."  
  
She squeezes his hand tightly, and he squeezes back. "Thank you, Cullen."  
  
\----  
  
“I have always envied mages.”  
  
She leans her hip on his desk, eyes directed at his window, distant and unfocused.  
  
“I suppose that’s an odd thing to say to an ex-Templar--to you, specifically--but it’s true.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“All my life I was raised with stories of the greatness of ancient elves, of their magic, of Arlathan. When I was a young girl I hoped and prayed each night that the next day would be the day my magic manifested itself. Magic, I reasoned, would make me more like the elves of Arlathan, and through magic I could further help recover the history of my people.” She met his gaze now, eyes startlingly clear.  
  
“When I reached the later years of adolescence I gave up hope and accepted that there was no magic in me to manifest. My younger brother grew to become the First of our clan and I strived to be the best at what I could do instead, which was hunt and fight.  
  
When I learned of the Chantry circles, I was perplexed. Mages in Dalish clans are cherished and are considered key to our culture. It is a privilege granted to only a few to refine your magic under a Keeper. But shem’len…” She shakes her head.  
  
“Forgive me. I did not come to visit you only to be so negative.” Her smile is tinged with bitterness.  
  
“I’m sure you’re entitled to a few complaints here and there.” A short chuckle escapes her lips.  
  
“After that last trip to Crestwood I would argue that I’m entitled to a little more than that. A nice, hot bath and a break from near death situations would be nice.” She pauses. “Creators, I’m starting to sound like Dorian.”  
  
Her humorous afterthought does little to dissuade the unbidden image of her, naked in the bath, that springs up in his mind. He stuffs it down quickly in an attempt to preempt the blush that would give him away.  
  
She saves him the trouble of coming up with an appropriate response though, and launches into an inaccurate impression of their friend with a decidedly terrible attempt at a Tevinter accent.  
  
“I can’t even remember the last time I wasn’t wet and soggy. Inquisitor, I fully expect to be reimbursed for my ruined boots.”  
  
Her giggles are contagious and he can’t help but smile at her in return. “Has he actually said that?”  
  
She nods in between snorts. “Yes, though I don’t really blame him for disliking being wet and soggy. Crestwood was unexpectedly miserable.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re safe, soggy boots and all.”  
  
The smile he receives is radiant and wide. He wants to kiss her.  
  
\----  
  
"You know, if we could actually win wars through chess, Corypheus would be long dead by your hand."  
  
He smiles as she contemplates the board between them, no doubt analyzing the moves that led to his win.  
  
"You flatter me."  
  
"Are you really so easily flattered, Cullen?" Her eyes leave the board and meet his. "I could wax poetic about the cut of your hair, or the lines of your jaw, or your strength on the battlefield, but it is praise of your chess skills that reddens your face."  
  
He feels the heat on his face and knows she is right. Since arriving at Skyhold they have danced around each other, shooting flirty comments under the guise of wit. He has finally earned the camaraderie that she shows their other companions and now she spends some of her free time with him, unburdened by formality.  
  
It was easy to ignore his attraction to her when he only admired her strength and resilience from afar. Now he actually knows her--he can make her laugh, has heard her stories about her clan. And she knows him in turn. She has learned how he liked to drink his tea and knew to remind him to respond to his sister's letters.  
  
He rearranges the pieces on the board to their starting positions, hoping that his actions serve to hide the slight shaking of his hands. If she could be bold in the face of this unnamed thing between them, then so could he.  
  
"I don't think I'd mind it if you waxed poetic, actually."  
  
She chuckles, “Perhaps Varric is better suited at this task than me?”  
  
“Honestly, I’ve heard Varric talk enough for a lifetime.”  
  
Her chuckles transform into a bark of laughter, “I suppose I’d feel the same way too if the embarrassing stories he constantly tells were about me.”  
  
“Wait. What?”  
  
“Oh, you didn’t know? I’ve said far too much. Another game?”  
  
The words are unbidden and leave his mouth before he can reconsider, “Only if you compliment my fair skin or the color of my eyes.”  
  
He is surprised at the words that now hang in the air between them; usually she is the one to challenge him and he is the one striving to come up with an appropriately witty response. He has resolved to be more bold in the face of her attentions, sure, but there are lines that cannot be crossed in these sorts of interactions. She makes him feel like a young recruit, stumbling to react appropriately to unfamiliar situations and struggling to learn all the unspoken rules all over again. She encourages him too though, always responding to his nerves and his shyness with a smile and a quip that leaves him feeling warm.  
  
It seems that she is surprised too, her shock evident in the slow and subtle rise of a blush from beneath her tunic up to her cheeks. She recovers quickly though, and meets his challenge with a determined set of her chin.  
  
“Your skin is fair but scarred, permanent reminders of battles lost scattered all over your body though the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart are testaments of the strength you possess and the life you cling to,” she pauses, considering his face. He feels the urge to shrink back from her scrutiny, but the words spilling out her lips have him entranced.  
  
“Your eyes are warm but troubled, in certain lights they are the color of a dying fire but in others they are like the rising sun, heralding a new beginning.”  
  
She bites her lip and smiles, the look on her face completely satisfied. His eyes are wide, he knows, and the heat on his face tells him that his blush has come out in full force.  
  
“I think that was better than anything Varric could write.”  
  
“What can I say, Cullen? You inspire me.”  
  
\----  
  
The first time he kisses her, he feels like he may just combust. He cannot decide where to place his hands; now that he has the freedom to touch her like this, he wants to feel all of her at once. They settle to cup her jaw for a few seconds, thumbs brushing tenderly over the markings on her cheeks as she returns his kiss. He can feel her whole body relax into him, her rigid posture melting as his hands travel down her body to the curve of her waist.  
  
Her own hands hurry to explore him as well, never stopping for too long as she moves them from his shoulders to his elbows to his hips. For once, he wishes that he wasn’t wearing his armor so he could feel the warmth of her palms and the clenching of her fingers.  
  
The pull of her lips is intoxicating, and he nearly groans out loud when her tongue brushes against his mouth. Her hands are in his hair now, and she pulls at the strands while pressing his head closer to hers. The grip he has on her hips tightens and his fingers itch to slip under her tunic and press against her skin. A nibble on his lower lip distracts him, and he responds in turn by pinning her to the stone behind her with his hips.  
  
She is the first to pull away. Her breaths come in short bursts, her eyes are hooded and just a little glazed over, and he observes with satisfaction that her lips are red and swollen from his attentions.  
  
“That was definitely a kiss.”  
  
He nods and laughs, feeling incredibly light.  
  
“I’ve wanted to do that for weeks,” he admits.  
  
She presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Now you can do it whenever you want.”


End file.
